Yours
by Imaginari-Mari
Summary: Everlark. Mockingjay AU. After the last night in the training center before the Quell, Peeta's "baby bomb" becomes a reality. It has been 5 months since the Quell, and Peeta has just been rescued from the clutches of the Capitol. [TW: pregnancy, mention of the possibility of an abortion]


The anxiety is threatening to overwhelm me. Finnick sits next to me, his fingers drumming on the metal table in front of us. We are in a room deep in District 13, waiting for answers, for a sign, for any indication that the people we love are safe and sound.

My own fingers drum against the curve of my belly. A soft fluttering starts deep within me, the baby responding to my fear.

I shift in my seat, pressing a hand to my middle. I've grown a lot the past few weeks, and sometimes it still feels like my swelling belly is part of someone else's body. When I first found out I was pregnant, I didn't believe it - I didn't want to, couldn't even begin to wrap my mind around the idea.

Teenagers in the District were given a thorough - if clinical - sex talk in school, and all the boys were provided with condoms. Girls were given a shot once every three months until they were eighteen to prevent pregnancies. No one wanted to risk reaping a pregnant girl and starting a riot.

But when the Quell was announced, I missed my shot. And there were no condoms in our rooms in the training tower; no one ever dreamed that two tributes would spend their nights together, seeking comfort in each other and passionately drowning the world out, if only for a little while.

But that's what Peeta and I did, the last night before we were sent into the arena. I grabbed his hand and dragged him to my room, searching for comfort in his arms. Embraces turned to kisses, kisses turned to moans, and we moved together, still covered in Cinna's makeup and our hearts pounding. It was my first time, and his, too - we never once considered protection. I had no intention of surviving past the next few days. We just clung to each other for the last few moments that we could.

I had no idea until after I was rescued, until the day I was sent into District 12 in an effort to convince me to be the Mockingjay. In the days leading up to the trip, I woke up nauseous and stayed that way throughout the day, unable to keep much of my food down. I was exhausted, sleeping in random places and thankful that I didn't have to follow the schedule on my arm. When I returned from Twelve, my mother and sister's smiles turned to looks of concern as I vomited for the fourth time that day. They insisted I go to the hospital, and I went reluctantly. The Doctors examined me - this time focused on my body, rather than my mind - and then my world flipped upside down for the third time a month.

Pregnant. Four weeks, conceived the night before the Quell.

I shut down. I didn't want to handle this news; I had never wanted children, never wanted a child of mine to be born into a world of pain and starvation. But I had no options - District 13 had none of the equipment to terminate a pregnancy, and none of the herbs that could do the job grew in the barren landscape. I felt like my body was not my own, and my mind was jumbled together.

After Peeta's interview with Caesar, I agreed to be the Mockingjay, thinking only of saving Peeta from the Capitol, and from Coin. I could help the rebellion and help Peeta, keep him alive - but with the life growing inside of me, I didn't know what to do.

The rebels didn't know what to do either. They had planned to tell the Districts that I had lost the baby that Peeta has revealed during the interviews - the baby that now was real - that the stress that the Capitol had out me under had stolen another life. They hadn't planned for a pregnant Mockingjay.

The Capitol couldn't know. I refused to let them use my pregnancy as a rallying point, to make my body and my life even less of my own. And I knew the Capitol would use it to hurt Peeta, use the knowledge that he would be a father to torment him, torture him. They eventually worked out that any propaganda with full body shots needed to be filmed immediately, before my belly began to swell. After that, any propos needed to be shot from chest up. They would spread the word in the Districts that I was still pregnant, but the Capitol wouldn't never see an image, never hear a whisper.

My pregnancy progressed, and I still felt detached, as if it were happening to another person. Soon the morning sickness - a misnomer, as it lasted all day - waned and I was able to keep my food down. My belly grew, a bump appearing and swelling slightly, jutting out past my breasts. The Mockingjay suit was altered, stretchy fabric added that Plutarch assured me would accommodate me even in my ninth month.

The first time I felt the baby move, I panicked. How was I to do this, bring a child into a world that had no stability, raise a child that could not possibly have a happy future? And how was I to do it alone - I did not know if Peeta would survive. My heart ached every time I felt the fluttering kicks deep within me, my mind drifting to the boy I loved, trapped in the Capitol. I wish I could have told him how much I loved him, how it was him and only him. The growing child within me had finally forced me to confront how I felt, and it broke my heart into pieces knowing that I had likely realized it too late.

In spite of myself, I was growing attached to the life inside my womb. I would find myself rubbing my belly throughout the day absentmindedly while I spoke, or lying a hand across is as I walked. I resisted at first, snatching my hand away when I would finally notice. I was still so angry - angry at myself for letting this happen, for being in the exact state I dreaded, and at the Rebellion for failing to rescue Peeta - but I was adapting, learning to live in my new reality. That's what I did best, after all: survive.

A few weeks before the Capitol's attack, I found out that the child was a girl. Peeta warned us about the bombs, his face bruised and broken and bloody, his mind fractured. We were saved, but I could no longer function without him. Hormones exacerbated my distress, and I couldn't film another propo knowing that they would use it against him like they used all of the others.

The Rebels decided to rescue him, him and the other victors, because they needed me sane, needed Finnick sane, to keep the fire of rebellion burning.

Gale was part of the six-man rescue mission. He hadn't been able to look me in the eye since my pregnancy was discovered, and I couldn't blame him, even when I needed his friendship and support. The baby was a constant reminder of who I had chosen.

We filmed a propo to distract the Capitol, to provide a cover for the mission. The baby was active, and as Finnick filmed I stroked the curve of my belly, soothing her. She felt like a part of me then, for perhaps the first time.

"It's okay," I whispered. "Your f-father will be here soon. You'll be safe." My voice trembled, but I willed myself to believe the words.

When the sky grew dark they brought Finnick and I into a little room to wait, and that is where we still are, waiting. Hours upon hours of waiting.

I stand up, using the metal table as support. I can't bend at the waist very well anymore, at twenty weeks. When I look down I can still see the toes of my boots, but I know that soon I won't be able to see my feet.

One hand slides behind me to support my back, the other rubbing the top of my belly as I pace, unable to sit still any longer. A particularly strong kick makes me pause, a small "oof" leaving my mouth.

Finnick immediately rushes over. "You okay?"

I nod.

"Yea, she's just kicking a lot harder today."

"Is that normal?"

"The doctor told me that the movements would get stronger. I guess she decided now was a good time."

I wince a little, the kicks not painful but odd, uncomfortable. It feels so strange to have something inside of me that is outside my realm of control.

"She still kicking?"

I nod.

"Can - can i -"

He's curious, like everyone else. People have asked me if they can touch my belly, feel the baby. I was shocked at first, that anybody could even think to ask, even total strangers. I had declined every time, as politely as I could manage. I didn't want to be touched. The only people permitted to touch my belly outside of the doctors - or even see it unclothed - were my mother and Prim.

But Finnick is here with me, suffering with me, his heart and his head somewhere in the Capitol with Annie. His fingers are unconsciously tying knots, over and over again. If it would ease his mind, even for a little bit, I would allow it.

I nod, and he places the rope down on the table. Grabbing his hand, I guide it to the spot on my belly where he can feel her kicks, faint and just noticeable to the outside world. They feel strong to me, but the doctors said it would be a few more weeks until their strength could be felt to anyone else.

His eyes widen and his face breaks out into a smile, the first one I've seen on him since we arrived in Thirteen.

"Wow - that's really a baby."

I chuckle. "Yea, I didn't notice."

Her kicks move and I guide his hand to follow. He is silent for a few moments, and my eyes begin to well up. The anxiety and fear, combined with the hormones, are finally overflowing, finally overwhelming. It should be Peeta here, pressing a hand to my stomach to feel his child. It's his smile I should be seeing, shining and golden on his face. And I don't know if he ever will feel it.

Finnick notices and removes his hand.

"Have you thought of a name?"

I shake my head,

"No," I reply, shakily. "I want to pick one out with Peeta, I wanted to wait, but I don't know if he'll -"

"He'll be okay," he reassures me. "They all will be, because - "

There is a knock on the door. I walk to it and open it.

Haymitch is on the other side, his face haggard but his mouth pulled into a smile.

"They're back."

Finnick lets out a 'whoop' and tears down the hall.

"They're in the hospital," Haymitch calls after him. He beckons to me and I follow him.

"How is he?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen him yet."

Apprehension and anticipation are welling up in me, and I start rubbing my belly again, soothing her.

He's alive! I think. He's alive and we are going to see him, baby girl, it's going to be okay.

We arrive at the hospital and find Finnick, his arms wrapped around a red-haired girl. They are both crying, the tears silently streaming down their faces as they hold each other.

Boggs is in front of a door.

"Peeta's in here," he tells me, nodding at Haymitch.

I move to go to the door, but he blocks it.

"Katniss, we can't let you in without guards."

I gape at him. I haven't seen Peeta in five months, he's just been rescued, and I am carrying his child - and they won't let me see him alone.

I glare at him and open my mouth, but he cuts me off.

"In your condition, we can't risk anything. Peeta was tortured for a very long time, Katniss, and he wasn't good when we got to him. We need to ensure your safety."

"Fine," I snap, realizing that I won't get my way. "Who are we waiting for?"

"Two guards."

After a minute they arrive, and Boggs reaches for the doorknob.

"Be cautious," he warns everyone. "This kid has been through a lot."

Peeta is alone in the room, lying on a bed. His face is twitching and his mouth is set in a hard line. He looks up at the door as we walk in - Boggs, me, Haymitch, and the two guards, one right after the other.

When he meets my eyes, he clambers off of the bed and starts toward me. The look is intense, a desire or want I can't place. I reach out to him, take a step forward.

His hands latch around me throat.

In my shock, I can't defend myself, only feel his fingers tightening. The baby starts to kick, almost frantically. He's close enough to feel her, his stomach coming into contact with mine sooner than he expected.

He gasps and his hold loosens, The guards manage to grab him and pull him away from me. I gasp and cough, my breath coming in short gasps as I clutch my belly, instinctively curling around it and turning away from him. Tears are streaming down my face. The visions of a happy reunion, with Peeta crying tears of joy and cradling my belly, are fading away and replaced with someone I don't recognize.

"What?" Peeta sputters, his voice hoarse and harsh, his face contorted with an anger i have never seen there before. "She's a - but she's - she's a mutt!" he yells, the words echoing in the small room.

Haymitch walks over to him. "Peeta, do you know where you are?"

Peeta ignores him. "Why is she here? She killed everyone. She tried to kill me, she killed my family, she's a - "

His eyes are looking around wildly, and then he sees me again. I stand straight, ignoring the instinct to hide, the tears still falling. He looks at my belly like he can't believe it, like it shouldn't be there.

"She's - she's - pregnant?"

Haymitch nods. "Yes, Peeta."

"But she isn't supposed to be. They showed me videos, pictures - she's not pregnant."

"She is, Peeta."

His eyes grow flinty. "Whose is it? Gale's? Finnick's? Is he using them like she used me, making them think she loves them too?"

I can't process the words; all I see is a bruised and battered boy, someone with Peeta's face but a monster's voice, a monster's words.

Haymitch shakes his head. He's making an effort to be gentle.

"No, Peeta. It's yours."

Peeta makes a choked sound. His face relaxes and tenses, his pupils contracting and dilating rapidly. For a brief moment, the Peeta I know - the Peeta I expected - shines through, the face a picture of happiness, before it's shut down and he clenches his jaw. He trembles violently, then collapses in the guards' arms, shaking his head from side to side and whispering as they lift him back up onto the bed.


End file.
